A Measure of Worth
by Victoria LeRoux
Summary: They're too young to believe it's not going to be okay. Clove, and Cato, and the Hunger Games.


"Are we going to die?" she asks in a cold voice that quavers just slightly as he stretches back on the sofa. His head lolls back as he examines her, eyes roving over her closed face and defensive posture.

He gives her a wolfish smile, eyes glittering as he rolls his shoulders before he gives her a yawn. "Nah," he says cheerfully. "We're too good for that."

She laughs without real amusement, flipping her blade over before she hurls it at the wall. It lands almost exactly where it has the last six times and quivers from the force of the toss. She moves over so that she can examine the cut - it's just a little higher than the last.

"Damn it," she curses as she tugs it free. She hears his feet thump on the ground as he rolls off the furniture and stalks up behind her. One hand gently pulls the knife from hers before he tosses it onto the table. "You know they won't let us win."

He sighs, and changes the subject quickly, obviously not in the mood to listen to her sulk. His faith in their power is unflappable, despite the fact that only one of them can survive. She wonders which of them will go first, which of them will allow themselves to survive. "Who are you going to kill first?" he asks cheerfully.

Clove pauses and her face tightens with anger. "Little Miss Perfect from Twelve," she decides after barely a moment of hesitation. "Then I'll get Lover Boy."

Cato grins. "Let me handle Lover Boy," he suggests. "He's too easy for you."

She doesn't mind admitting he's successful in distracting her. "You're so sweet," she teases. "Maybe I should call _you_ Lover Boy instead."

* * *

They've never stopped fighting, but there's always the lingering thought in the back of their minds that one of them has to die.

Then comes the announcement and they look at one another. Cato gives off his usual lop-sided grin, and Clove twirls a knife between her fingers.

"See?" he says smugly. "We're too good to die for something like this."

She gives off a small, real laugh and he raises his eyebrows. "You're right," she agrees easily. "We are."

* * *

"What will you do when all this is over?" she asks one day, in between killing a sloppy tribute and eating some of their stash.

He's surprised by the sudden question. They hadn't ever considered life after the Games. It's always about been making it, then about winning. There'd never been any thought about what came after.

"Get a new place. Train some newcomers. Make sure they get the chance we did."

Clove smiles, all sad and solemn, and he knows that isn't the answer she wanted. But he can't promise her anything, not until they've won and are safe.

He hopes she understands.

* * *

"Cato!_ Cato!"_

Cato feels the rage growing in his chest and he bears his teeth.

_Clove._

He propels himself forward, launching himself through the forest and forgetting any semblance of stealth as he hurls over felled trees. His pace increases until he should be winded and panting for air.

Cato bursts out the the trees, feet smacking onto the ground hard enough to sting. He can see the three - the Girl on Fire, the boy from Eleven, and Clove - clustered together.

Clove is screaming and Cato is running and he knows he isn't going to be able to reach her in time.

Then he sees Thresh raise the rock and he knows it's over.

He should have known it from the start - should have guessed that they'd never be strong enough to win this thing after all. The deck had been stacked against them from the beginning, and regret pushes him forward.

Cato pushes forward and as Thresh runs, he drops down beside her, knees hitting the ground with an audible thump. He knows there's no bringing her back, but he has to try.

"Clove!" he yells. The girl from Twelve has vanished and he isn't sure why she hasn't shot him yet. It doesn't matter. "Come on Clove, don't go. Stay with me. Clove - please," the words tumble from his lips and he can feel her moving against him.

"Cato," she says weakly, one hand tightening. "Guess we weren't too good to..."

"No. We _are_ good enough," he insists quietly. "Come on Clove, don't do this to me."

But she isn't moving and her eyes are wide open as she stares at the sky. Cato can still hear himself pleading for her to stay, that they can still win this thing as long as they win it _together_.

She's too still and too silent, but Cato has a roaring in the back of his ears and he hasn't heard the cannon yet. He knows he's just denying the truth, knows that she isn't going to be walking out of the Arena a winner, but he can't accept it.

He doesn't accept it.

Cato doesn't wipe her blood off his hands or the rest of his body. Instead he stands and looks at the tracks leading into the forest.

Then he begins to hunt.

* * *

The first thing Cato does is kill Thresh.

But Clove is still gone, and killing the boy from Eleven doesn't make a difference. He is cold and he isn't sure he's angry anymore.

He isn't even sure he's anything anymore.

He'd hoped, and he'd already lost. It should have been obvious from the start which District was going to win this fight. They were Careers - no one wanted to watch a Career win.

So Cato stands on top of the Cornucopia and voices aloud the truth. He can see the shock in the "star-crossed lovers'" eyes, but he doesn't care. It's over, if their chance had even existed.

He pulls Lover Boy to the edge and should think _if I'm going down, he's coming down with me_ but all he feels is that deep resonating loneliness that says _I'm going to hurt you like you hurt me._

Except he can't even do that, because suddenly there's an arrow in his hand and he's falling. Then a mutt with dark fur and bright, shining eyes bears down on him and all he can think is _sorry._

He fights, because that's all he's known how to do. He fights until he drops to the ground that his blood has turned into mud. He lies there and waits to die.

There's a mutt with dark eyes and darker fur standing above him, and the only words he can form is _please._

Then the arrow hits him just as the truth does.

They had never been good enough.


End file.
